His Guess is, Pretty Okay
by SomethingWittyIllThinkOfLater
Summary: She's been gone for months. They've been searching, and now, they've finally achieved the goal. What they've found, though, isn't exactly ideal. She's not... She's not Artemis anymore.


It was like a nightmare.

But even in nightmares he would have never even imagined that he'd be here today, convincing this girl, possibly one of the strongest people he could ever know, that her death couldn't benefit anything.

"It's.." she strains, briefly touching her hand to her head, "It's better like... like this." when she finally opens her eyes, they're staring right into his.

For a moment, he contemplates wether or not his mask was still clinging on.

"No, it's not," he replies, obviously having an easier time gathering his thoughts, "We need you, Artemis. Come with us. _Please._" it was a pathetic cry. But how could someone _not_ look pathetic while lying in the mud? Face down, barely even able to look up at her.

She hesitates, a shadow of a smile forming on her face before disappearing, like a time-lapsed whither. The gun that was formerly aimed at her temple, now aimed toward him. The action is surprising to say the least. Her finger finds the trigger. What was she doing? Wasn't she trying to _help_ them?

Her hand bolts back to hold her head, she lets out a groan and drops the pistol at her feet.

"I-I'm sorry," she grunts, backing up into the brick wall, "I didn't mean that, at-at least I don't think I..." she looks to him, terrified to find him just as scared as she is. "I'm sorry."

He narrows his eyes, confused as to what might be making her act this way. Her fingers run through her blonde hair quickly, like some sort of nervous tick, as she slowly inches to the ground, before hugging her knees to her chest.

"Artemis, it's fine." he says, although not sure if that's true or not at the moment.

"No, it's not. I'm not." she says, beginning to whisper what looked like a mantra to herself. He didn't know which of them looked more pathetic.

"'Mis," he tries, her constant mumbling continuing, growing. "_Artemis."_

She snaps her head up, jaw dropping.

"Why," she demanded. "Why are you calling me that." there wasn't a hint of question in her voice.

His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"You're... You called me that earlier. That's not my name."

He breathed out, shoulders slouching a bit, the mud impossibly eating at more of his suit than before. What had _happened to her? _

"Alright. What _is _your name, then?" he attempts, pushing at the ground for the umpteenth time, it had proved fruitless before, his muscles just refused to work anymore. "Mine's Robin," If she _had _figured out the secret ID from all the hints he's been dropping, that's surely all gone now.

"No-" she seems almost amused at this. "I know _you._"

His arm slides out from under him and he ignores the way his jaw hits the pavement, teeth biting into his own tongue harshly.

"You're _Robin. _Batman's Robin."

"Yes, I know." he replies, struggling to understand the new tone in her voice. He'd been trained in body language, to predict future movements with the present ones. Obviously he dabbled in the 'tone of voice' section of the Bat-Cyclopidia. But this one he couldn't place.

And that was scary.

"But what's _your _name?" he inquires once again, trying so very hard not to sound threatening by any means. He needs to be friendly, like he's coaxing a child on a ledge to worm over and grab his hand.

She looks like she almost wants to _laugh _at the inquiry, placing a hand on her chest and leaning down to grasp the pistol she'd carelessly dropped. Her back slides up the brick wall, the fabric of her suit catching in some places. If this creates any new tears in the ensemble, they surely go unnoticed among many identical holes and scratches that adorn the material.

"My name? I don't have one." She answers once she's finally made her slow, eerie treck from off the ground to her full height potential. He hasn't seen her for three months, not in person, anyway. But she probably still has inches on him. "But I do know my mission,"

He finds himself looking down the barrel of the weapon again, and this time he's not sure how okay he is with that.


End file.
